


YOU'RE breathtaking.

by yvette_cigarette



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Basically you get to fuck John wick, F/M, I don't understand tags help me, My first straight fic, The Author Regrets Nothing, but it's a beatle song so its all g, except i gave you a new name, its funny but not also?, possibly the dirtiest thing i've ever written, weird i know, you're bloody welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 17:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19480801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yvette_cigarette/pseuds/yvette_cigarette
Summary: You get locked out of your apartment (ye doofus) but have no fear, John mother-fucking Wick is here.





	YOU'RE breathtaking.

You whine at the locked door, “are you fucking kidding me?” you hiss, assaulting the door handle furiously, but to no avail. You glare at the closed frame, the glossed timber snarling back at you. Sighing miserably down at the floor, regarding your socked feet, you try the doorknob again, hopelessly begging the universes to give you a break, this time with a little less aggression. As you let out a chest-full of air you furrow your brows, worry entering your system. 

Your breath staggers as you realise you’re not getting back in. Groaning at the door frustratedly before lifting your head to eyeball the hallway, you push through the cocktail of anger and anxiety stirring inside, and try to work out what to do. 

Was Mrs Andrews in? You could ask to use her phone if she were.

But as you survey the area you find yourself completely alone, to this, you groan and shamefully back off from your door. As you step backwards miserably - your ass meeting the hallway wall behind you - you review your options.You palm your pockets just in case you do have your phone, but no, nada. 

You run your fingers up through your hair and clench them in your bun, focusing on your breath as you squeeze your eyes shut. It was six pm last you checked, now it looked as if you’d be spending the night out here.

You let out a deep exhale and slide down the wall defeatedly. 

What a sight you must’ve made - sunken and misplaced - that tuft of unbrushed hair pulled back in a violently high bun, leggings and oversized hoodie. Plus the ridiculously warm socks that you now sit death-staring, your knees bent as your hold your cheeks in your palms.

You whine pathetically as you press the heels of your hands into those tired eyes, of all the days to have only gotten two hours sleep prior. 

“Is everything okay?” Came an abstract inquiry from above your sunken head, the familiar depth in his tone instantly challenging your heart-rate. You’re met first by the glossy dress shoes that stand before you, you raise your head and take in the sharp, unambiguous black on black suit ensemble looming above you. Above the corporate stature was his exacting expression, you blinked up at him, lost for words along with reality for a moment. “Oh...hey...John, right?” You murmur uncertainly, wondering if he remembered you. Your thighs are tensed and hands knotted inside the front hoodie pocket. He nods once with a questioning expression, his original question still hanging around in the air.

“I, uh...I-I’m fine.” You reply, deciding it better to sound rude than pathetic. You clench your fists as a substitute for exploding. You know him well enough to understand that he didn’t do small talk, so you think it safe to assume asking for help would only result in awkward rejection.

To the dismissal, the corner of his lip lifted slightly and it was like he’d fucking punched you. As you study his features once more, knowing you would probably never get a chance again, your met with a handsomeness that you had been so certain didn’t actually exist. 

Encasing that stoic face of fact - with it an oddly soothing intensity - was his slicked back head of jet-black hair. Connecting with those perfected locks was the charcoal dust of his confined beard, it’s presence made him all the more difficult to pin. 

“You sure?” He renewed with a raise of brow, his eyes raked over your situation as you sat there.You decided to hell with preservation, “Uh...” you sigh - defeated, “no, I...I, uh, I’m locked out.” You say, raising your shoulders, as if trying to make a joke out of the situation. Hey, if not laughing it’d probably be crying.

Your neighbour glances over his shoulder, to the apartment you’ve been exiled from. And then looks back at you, those machine guns for eyes washing over your slumped self.

“Can I...can I use your phone maybe?” You ask, not understanding how you’d managed to make the request sound disinterested - you had never been a pro with asking for help.

You just needed to call the landlord so you could get back into your place.

“Sure.” Was all he said, the word rolling out with the same sonorous ease.

“Thank you.” You say through a relieved sigh, genuinely grateful for his help.

He offers you a hand up, the hand held out blowing your mind with its size. Smiling a thanks, you take it - and shit, you weren’t sure you’d ever get it back - but you’re pulled to a stand still and your limb is returned from those calloused devices. 

There’s an uncertain moment there, you look up at him skeptically - half convinced he’s changing his mind - but instead his eyes are sweeping over you. It makes you squirm where you stand, knowing full well you must look like a hallway succubus. 

“This way.” He gestures with a tick of his head to a point down the hall, you nod and follow close behind. He leads you down to a door identical to all rest that somehow just seems better. You watch him turn the key and then hold the door open with one arm for you, smiling yet another smile in lieu of ‘thank you’, you drift through the frame.

As you eyeball his home, you hear the door click behind you. When he asks your name, you murmur, “it’s Michelle,” absentently as you take in his home with wide eyes. It’s then that you realise how animated it all appeared. You can easily draw the conclusion that this apartment was one of many, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had a few places scattered throughout the city. His snappy suit and contents of apartment certainly confirm your suspicions regarding his wealth- was that a fucking wine rack? 

“Drink?” He offered coolly, entering his kitchenette. “Please.” You reply with a light chuckle, pressing your elbows to the cool counter surface where you’ve taken a seat - feeling the icy temperature on your skin, straight through the hoodie’s cotton. With your arms balancing there, you pushed your fingers through your hair and aren’t surprised when the hair tie snaps. Rest in peace you abused, elastic soldier. 

With no restraint, your hair pours down your shoulders. You attempt to tame the bunch with your hands but all it results in are his razor-sharp eyes on you once more. Only this time there was something not-so foriegn etched into them. You know that look. 

He rotates and out of a higher shelf pulls out a tall, clear bottle. “Vodka okay?” He basically challenges, little did he know you’re an A-list alcoholic.

“Fine.” You shrug, unaffected as you pursue your lips coyly. 

He saunters back over to you, something warm stirs inside when you realised he hasn’t offered the phone yet, this was when you began to assess that look in his eye again. He procured two glasses that were soon half full of the potato-originating drink, he slid your beverage into your hands and you hold it with both. 

You watch him carefully through the sip he takes, when his eyes begin to read yours you blink slowly and give a smile you knew was torturous in its naturality. 

You stare down into the contents of your glass before lifting your eyes to meet like the molten likes of his, and you find they’re already on you. It was then that you figured unspoken would be the route of communication, so you take a small sip - which instantly became your downing it all in one go. You push a sharp breath out and set the glass back down, you’re panting slightly when you mention, “I haven’t seen you around much.” Truth be told, you two had spoken once or twice - the exchanges leaving you alarmingly wobbly, but you knew he was new to the building, and you wanted him talking again. 

“Well, moved in a few weeks back...guess I’m somewhat of a workaholic.” He explained lowly, downing all of his drink like you had. You’d like to believe you’d taught him well, though it was obvious - whatever is occupation - that he’d needed to be a good drinker in his lifetime. 

“And?” You ask, with the lift of brows and tilt of chin. 

“And?” He echoed, smirking at you with raised eyebrows of his own. You’re struck by that ruggedness once more, fucking hell. What laboratory was he grown in? 

“ _And,_ ” You giggle like a cheerleader wanting to get laid, “what do you think? How has the ever-elusive John Wick been settling in?”

He pursed his lips around another smirk and swayed his head back and forth slightly, as if weighing his options. “It’s good…” he said hesitantly, holding the empty glass in his hand as he spun the drops left inside. 

“But?” You venture, narrowing my eyes at him. He chuckled lightly, impressed with your telepathy. 

“ _But,_ it’s pretty far from the city, not a great deal of access to...everyone else.”

You scoff cutely, shaking your head, and then you level with him, smirking at his watching gaze, “ _that,_ Mr Wick,” you say matter-of-factly, “is the best part of living here.”

He chuckles lightly and nods his head, “take it your not a people-person?”

“Not if I can help it.” You chirp, snickering down at your empty glass. He seemed to enjoy your detachment from the human race, though you can’t imagine why.

“How’d you know my last name?” He asked, almost impressed as he moved over to the other side of the polished-stone kitchen.  
“No mystery,” you shrug, “I get your mail sometimes.” 

He nods from where he takes his phone off the cradle, “so, is it just you?” He asked, keeping eye contact as he moved back over. “Where you live? No...boyfriend, girlfriend?” He prods, handing you the cordless phone, you take it and nod because words escape you when those eyes are on you.

You begin to dial the landlady's number and smile up at the man, shrugging as part of your reply, bringing the phone up to your ear. He simply nods, a polite smile lacing his lips as he collects the glasses. 

The ringing in your ear from the phone becomes tedious, until finally she answers.

“Sarah, hi!” You basically exclaim, staring at your lap. “Yes, I know it’s late, but, uh….” You push out a deep breath and shake your head, “I, uh, I’m locked out.” You chuckle but realise you probably shouldn’t, “yeah, yes...oh, okay...yeah, yeah that’s fine.” You look over to John who is packing his dishwasher with seemingly spotless dishes, as if everything in his wake simply knows to obey him.

“Uh...y-yes, I’m just with Mr Wick... _yes_ really, what do you- o-okay, yeah, see you then, thanks so much Sarah.” You conclude, ending call. You look over at the back of your neighbour’s body, posture sharp and exact. He has a great ass you realise, huh. 

When he turns around you clear your throat and place the phone across the smooth bench where he can take it.

As he moves closer to collect said device, he asks, “Well?” 

You sighed tiredly, “she’s in the city, won't be back for an hour or so.” John nodded with a furrow of the brow, he rotated and set the phone back to its home. 

As he began sauntering back, his eyes flicking over you - locking your airways gloriously. He crossed his arms over his chest and eyed you for a moment, “what are we going to do for a whole hour?” 

You didn’t hear him right. You couldn’t have. 

The words were grumbled and thick, the ends of his mouth curled ever so slightly as he raised his eyebrows daringly. 

You feel your cheeks set on fire, “um…” you stall like an idiot, waiting for the penny to drop - your mind blank and pulse stinging. John prowls past the sharp corner of the counter - and at first you think he’s coming to get you - but he’s now moving in the direction of the front door. 

You watch him with a tight chest and held breath, it’s then that you realise what he’s doing.

With each lock, each chain, each click, you feel your heart-rate quickening rapidly. The shadowed man turns to face you from where he stands, back to the locked door and sights set. You gulp and frown over at him, “whu…” but you’re stopped by the look in his eyes, it is something reflective in those umber orbs that sends a thick drop of desire through you. Jesus, you didn’t think you two would actually…

The pulse between your hips becomes hotter and hotter with each step he takes towards you. Your mind begins to churn in a more aware way, with this you realise what is about to happen. 

Your back is straight as a board as he reaches you, your skin suddenly repulsed by your bones - your flesh begging to be in his hands. 

He’s behind you.

You’re perched as you were when you’d spoken and drank with John, only now the phantom looms like scent against your back, his presence alone feels like contact. You frown down at the counter’s surface, wondering if you should be saying something. Your breath is short and shudderingly soft through your gaping mouth, you blink in a fast flutter as you feel the hair falling down your right shoulder being swept aside. The blush-inducing task is executed by paper-like hands, little explosions of anticipation ignite within each of your hungry nerves. 

With your neck exposed, a bag of juvenile butterflies are launched through your humming body, god - he hasn’t even touched you yet and already you’re more chills than woman. 

You swallow thick, briefly wondering if his plan is to kiss or kill you. You realise you don’t mind as much as you probably should. 

The moment his mouth attaches to the curve of your neck you falter, sighing dreamily as your heavy eyelids flutter closed. 

The heat of his mouth overpowers any doubt you may have harboured, now - as the luscious warmth of his lips and tongue suck and kiss your skin - you know you’re a goner. 

You hum in approval as his hands take your waist, yours reach behind, over your shoulders to hold him close as he pecks your skin softly. His littering of kisses climb your insatiable neck until his tongue is toying with your ear. You sigh and shiver as that wet tool flicks up the edge of your lobe and up, you moan under your breath - hating yourself for it as you cross one leg over the other - as out of courtesy. He snickered in a baritone liquid, pulling your sensitive ear lob between his teeth. Your breathing deepens as his hands rub little circles around your hips, this mouth leaves your skin and you realise the ball is in your court. 

In the bar stool you sit so prettily in, you rotate to completely face the older man. Your legs remained locked, your elbows press into the counter’s edge behind you as you look up at John. You have just as much a part in this as he. You’re what he wants and you know it.

You take in the soft contour of his aged features, his ebon overtone, that void in his stern, melanoid eyes that whisper you all you need to know.

Sitting as you are - chest out, heaving and uncovered, safe for your hoodie - you flick your eyebrows at him - daring him to claim you.

The edges of his thin, roseate lips lift in an almost predatory smirk, as he inches closer to you. Your crossed knees meet the space between his thighs as his hands obediently stay by his side, without a word - eyes meeting his with almost threatening provoke - you undo your legs. He purses his lips and watches as your legs part. 

In this position, you’re ripe for the taking - shoulders sharp as your forearms press to the expanse behind you, your ribs raised and stomach low. You breathe in sharply, making a meek sound when John settles between your legs. You look up to him with a cocky sneer, demonstrating your unruffled state. 

He runs the very tips of his slender fingers up the outside of your thighs, shivers descend from your skull to toes, he continues this motion in vertical strokes. Down, his digits glide along your lycra leggings, the sensation seeping right through. And back up, to the exquisite bend of your knees. His eyes are scanning you, predicting you. His sights lock to the zipper directly running down your torso, your breath hitches when he with one hand reaches for it. You snatch his hand in yours - trapping it - he’s taken aback slightly, perhaps wondering if his intention was coming to naught. 

He narrows his eyes at you and allows your grasp you burn his skin, that look he has on you tightens as you begin tutting at him like a bad dog. You look up at him through your lashes and smirk smugly, you hold his hand, keeping your fingers sunken into his as you lower your locked hands. The other supports your thrumming body, you sit up and get a hold on the zipper for yourself. The man of an aged maturity looming between your thighs makes a low growling sound, with that hand you hold - rough and warm - you guide it down to the heat below your waist band. He smirks at you, beginning to understand. You hold his hand to that hot place, over the fabric as you lock eyes with him - the colouration of your stunning irises clearly throwing him into a frenzy. With the fingers pinching your hoodie’s zipper - suspended at the end of your neck - you begin pulling the thing down. 

As your bare skin is slowly revealed in an upended triangle, your chest split like flesh against cotton, John’s breathing takes an almost rabbid route, sharp and impatient. This anticipation is only clenched when he discovers that you’re wearing nothing underneath. As your delicate fingers complete their quest of exposure - the zipper undone and apparel parted completely - you sit there in front of him, uncovered, on exhibition. 

You swallow, flitting your tongue over your bottom lip as you turn your head to the side. You watch him, he blinks not like a man, more like a tiger - slow and unnerved as he takes in your half-nakedness. He moves in - too hungry to delay - now his crotch meets the two hands at yours, he’s so close that you’ve wrapped your legs around the small of his back, your ankles locking as your elbow goes back to supporting your weight. You both breath labourly into each other’s space, John’ free hand - the one you’re not welding to your hottest place - takes your lower back. His palm smoothing along that curve above your ass, you pull your lip between your teeth and your eyes briefly close in a moment of weakness. In this falter, your hand releases his and comes up to comb the stray strands of hair covering your face. He watches you longingly as you tip your chin, pulling the skin of your glossy lips yearningly. 

When you feel the heat of his breath hovering over one of your breasts you know you’ve teased him and yourself enough.

A breathy moan slips past your lips as his alarmingly soft lips press around the skin of your nipple, his sullen, sooty eyes peirce you as he releases the pink bud, that gaze doesn’t cease as he licks a single stripe up the hardenned peak. The way he looks at you with those dusky orbs, along with the hands he’s fastened to your waist as he tastes you - it set’s your arousal alight. You moan a little louder as his warm hands connect to your tits, fondling both of them as he sucks and kisses you. 

“Oh, god…” you murmur as he plays with you, your legs tighten around him and one of your hands come to grip that hair - pulling him in, urging him on as he groans into your skin. Each pull, each suck, each move of his lips sends citrusy ripples of pleasure straight to your clit. You sit yourself up, pulling him in as he continues to feast on you. You bend your head back as you moan softly, your hands holding him close as if he’d slip away.

You feel his eyes peering up at you, up your sternum, your neck that reclines as you lean back, mouth gaping as you breathe deeply. You feel his kisses climb your chest, passing your collarbones and eventually he’s pressing his mouth to your jaw. You swallow a breath and straighten your head, as you do this he detaches from your neck, you both look at each other meaningfully.

“Want you.” He growls as your nails dig into his arms, “now.” You nod breathlessly and go for his belt, furrowing your brows in concentration as your fingers find the buckle, but he easily takes your hand as you’d done to him - only now you can’t imagine the delay - it’s obvious by the bulge in his pants that he’s just as eager as you. 

He detaches from you, hands and all. You frown at him in admitted confusion, but undo your legs from around him all the same. You watch him take a step back and follow his line of sight as he points his eyes in the direction of his lounge room, it’s as inky as he his - sunless decor with a modern edge to the long L shaped sofa. You study the older man as he turns from you and heads into the space, you sit and watch as he takes a seat in the centre of the matte, leather couch. 

“Come here.” He says lowly, his legs are apart and you spot the generous hard-on between them. His forearms press to his knees as he leans forward to regard you, that knowing, unambiguous look has come back. 

You smirk at him, climbing down from the stool as you realise how sore your ass is. 

You keep your eyes on him as you float towards the man, his beckoning expression reddening your cheeks. Halfway over you shedd out of your hoodie, which he obviously enjoyed the sight of, you catch his heaving chest as he regards your bare chest.

On a whim - a cruel one - you decide to slow your pace, what’s the rush? 

Your speed decreases and to this, John groans under his breath, “you’re killing me.” He breathes as you pad over slowly, pursing your lips seductively. Once you settle in front of John’s parted legs, you run your fingers through his hair, brushing through his scalp. You feel that thick tuft pull between your gentle fingers, he affirms his approval in the way his hands find your hips.

Before you can do, or say more, you’re being rotated to face the direction you came in. In part shock and awe, you stare over your shoulder to see what he’s planning, it’s then that John sinks his fingers into the mounds of your ass cheeks. You gasp as his hand squeeze your plump flesh, your eyes close involuntarily and you’re moaning openly as you feel his face against your ass, he’s fondling you firmly as he inhales longingly.

With his hands gripping you like a constrictor, he begins biting through the thin material that covers your bum, his teeth sinking into you delightfully, you hiss and giggle as he growls wantonly into you. Suddenly he’s pulling you greedily into his lap, you suck in a breath and feel how hard he is behind his fly as he holds you posessively. Your hands go for his shoulders in search of a steady surface as he begins manhandling you.

First his fingers pinch at the waist band cutting into your hips and begin pulling them down, the leggings are peeled off and now lie like death over his carpeted floor. You writhe in between his legs, your hands come to clutch at his nightly hair as he begins rubbing you over your panties. They’re already wet under his precise fingers, you moan as he slips one hand below the fabric. His other hand is busy grasping your breast as if it held the secret to the universe, squeezing and dropping it as you react to each motion. He keeps his hand there as he slides two fingers inside of you without warning, you wail and shiver, knowing you’re nothing but a wet, swollen mess around him. 

He breathes in your ear as he touches you, “you like that, baby?” He purrs, pumping his fingers in and out of you cruelly. You moan and arch your back, nodding frantically. The hand on your breast attaches to your hair and pulls meanly, you moan at it and become that much wetter. “I can’t hear you nod.” He tells you in that firm husk, holding you by the hair as his fingers fuck you. Your scalp burns gloriously as you groan against his touch, “I - oh, fuck - I love it,” you hiss, “y- _yes_ …” You rock you hips into his touch, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth desperately.

“Yes, what?” John urges, he groans into your neck and you feel his cock begging for you, pressing against you sinfully. 

“ _Yes,_ Mr Wick, oh god yes, Mr Wi - uh - Wick…” you drool, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he tortures you.

His hand releases your hair, head hanging limply, you whimper as he pulls his fingers out of you. You breathe deeply and gasp once more when he’s urging you upwards, you stand before him now. He looks up at your with animalistic want, you pant and lock eyes with him as you step out of your panties and your fucking socks. The moment your nude figure is revealed he stands, pulling you close as presses his soft mouth to yours. No need for tippie-toes as he does all of the work - engulfing you dedicatedly. You hum into the kiss and savour his taste - one of vodka and trouble.

As he kisses you like his life depends on it, you palm him over his trousers, this earns you a low groan between the lips crushing yours. You smile into it and place your hands on his chest, allowing him to sink back into the sofa. He sits there; the panting, smokey beauty, watching you closely.

To this attention you purse your lips and bend down to kiss him once more, your tongue fighting with his as you saviour each other. You use your hands to part his legs in one movement, detaching from his mouth with a popping sound. You feel his eyes possessing you as you kneel between his thighs, you settle between them and go for his belt at last.

You banish the snake-like constrictor within seconds, sending it away as you unzip him needily. You part his fly and look up at him, not for permission but as a way of asserting your own play of dominance. He’s breathing opening through his parted lips, and you can’t resist crashing your mouth to his. You taste him, everything he’d allowing you to and slip your hand into his boxer briefs. Your marvel at the guttural moan he pours down your throat as you kiss him, his tongue falters in it’s crusade as you get a hold of him. As you kiss him in the most eauropean way possible - your hot tongue slipping past his teeth - you allow yourself to become acquainted with his length, call it estimating. 

Your noses nuzzle slightly as his hands pull you in by the base of your neck, breathing ruggedly and stinging with anticipation. You break off from that wet wonder that is his mouth, and lean into his ear, whispering; “Now hold still.” 

He bites his bottom lip and you smirk at his repressed smile, as you shuffle back a little on your knees, reminded once again of how naked you are, you place your hands over the expanses of his thighs. You can feel the tension between them, the unimaginable swell of arousal pulling you in like a beckoning siren or searchlight. You have to take a breath, god you want him in your mouth, it’s killing you the way it’s killing him.

You look up at him with a kind of beautiful snarl as you run your palms up and down his thighs, he groans and closes his eyes, reclining in the sofa as your quest commences. You look up at him, admiring his profile, inklike and magnetic in its infinite depth. You set your sights a little lower, you expose him entirely, the painfully hard cock in your hand makes you moan. 

You calm yourself - for fuck sake - and lean into his heat, looking up his shut eyes you lick one stripe upwards, watching for his reaction. He hums, it’s obvious he’s holding back, however his sounds rise in deep volume, becoming rabid as you take him completely in your mouth.

He occupies every inch of your mouth, you breath sharply through your nose and you begin the gentlest of sways, into his space and then out. You can tell he’s growing impatient when his hands come to grip your hair, you moan at the contact - the vibration entering his cock and ascending his spine. You decide you’ll put him out of his misery.

You lock your hands around the base of him and attach your mouth you the remaining length, as you push more and more of him down your throat your hands pump him in a way you’re certain will kill him. You take a few instances to force a dangerous amount of him down your throat, holding him there and your reflexes back. Around the fourth time you indulge in this cruel deepthroat, he allows a scandleous moan to enter the atmosphere, the thick sound making your thighs tremble with need. 

Soon he’s pulling you to your feet, you stumble and adjust to life without his cock in your mouth, but in your daze you allow him to push to about. You aren’t moving far as he soon bends you over the large, round sofa’s arm. You’re grateful for the broadness and plush of the arm but even more thrilled with the rough hands on your ass, you whine as he parts your cheeks. You hear his knees hit the floor and cry out when his mouth attaches to you, you gasp hysterically as his tongue swirls dirty circles around your opening, and nearly passed out when he hits your clit. Barbaric tingles flood your skin as you feel your body releasing hot, wet fluids around his perfect mouth, “J-John…” you blubber, pushing your hips towards him.

“Wick!’ You demand, squeazing your eyes shut, “fuck me, Wick, fucking do it.” You grit through your teeth, you swallow as he detaches from you.

“What was that?” He questioned in a tone so deep you had to double check he was still human, but this thought is destroyed as his hand comes down in a harsh slap against your raised ass cheek. You yelp in complete surprise, and then moan at the stinging heat he’s left over the skin. “What,” he growls, “makes you think you’re aloud to take that tone with me?” His hand comes back down, marking you with redness as well as a memory you’ll be trying to recreate forever. ‘Now…” he purred, leaning over your back - you whimper when you feel his cock brush up against you. “That’s try that again…” he continues hoarsely, “what do you want, Michelle?”

You grit your teeth and clench your fists in the chair’s arm, “I....please,” you sigh, “please, Mr Wick, give it to me…” you feel your own juices running down your legs from neglect, “pretty please. Fuck me.” He could have easily scolded you for the hint of sarcasm, but what your met with is the warningless, direct slide of his cock invading your body. You cry out pathetically, you eyes wide and brows contoured in upward ecstacy, your mouth hangs open and through it you moan and curse as he begins thrusting into your fucking soul.

He’s big, but comfortable in a way that makes you wonder how you’ll survive without it - but John has a way of locking you into the now, worries of a later parting don’t bother you so much.

He huffs and groans above you, his hands fastened to your hips, his nails biting into your plump flesh deliciously. You call his name and sink your head as his pelvis slams into your ass, he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you hard into his conclusions as the other hand pulls your hair backwards. Your head rises as he brings you back by your wild tuft, he licks your lips and then with his tongue enters your mouth. You melt into the kiss as he lunges into you animalistically. It’s official - you’ve never been fucked his hard. 

“Oh god, you’re so tight.” He grits, losing composure as the pink swell of your entrance poisons his nonchalance. You moan with him and feel that he’s close, you came way back there, but easily feel another conclusion racing after his. He lets your scalp free and fastens his hands to your waist, pounding into your body with furniture-arranging determination. You wail and drool as he fucks you senseless, your body clenching around him as you come for the seemingly thousandth time around his cock.

This must be what does it for him, he moans broadly and stills inside you. It’s then that you thank the pill, thank your door for locking with you on the wrong side, thank Sarah for being an hour late and thank fucking christ for Wick. 

He comes inside you, hot, white, and done.

You slump over the round sofa’s arm, panting and keening, shaking and groaning. He drapes his still clothed body over you and catches his breath on top of you. You love that weight, and miss it as he pulls out - the combination of come spilling from you in a hot flush. 

As you zip your hoodie back up, the last of your apparel to find your body again, John asks, “you’re sure you don’t want to stay?” You smile at him kindly, moving over to where he tucks himself back into his trousers. You stand before him, the way you had done so nakedly before, and run your fingers through his burly, sweat reduced hair. “Yeah, I should go,” you say, he looks up at you so of course you lean down to kiss him. “Sarah will be back any minute, not too sure how this would look…” you smirk, stroking his cheek bone with fascination. He chuckles under his breath, “I know exactly how it’d look.” He growled, grabbing your ass cheeks with both hands. You scoff and shake your head, “you’re too much for me.” You giggle, letting him go. 

“Michelle.” He says from across the room, just as you’ve undone the last of his myriad locks. He sits on the sofa, watching your escape into the hall. “Hm?” You hum, brows raised as you take the door handle. “You think we’ll do this again?” He asks, with reserve in the query. 

You smile genuinely, “hope so.” You shrug, grinning stupidly as you slip away. 

FIN  


**Author's Note:**

> let me know if you enjoyed, and if you wanna see more John Wick/Keanu Reeves one shots !! xx


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